Rage: Curse
by RedKaddict
Summary: Part of the "Rage" series. Guy reflects on the object of his hatred while still under the curse. Oneshot, canon, no slash/yaoi.


**Rage: Curse**

Red-hot, boiling rage paints a haze at the edges of my vision. No, that's not quite right. The rage has _become_ my vision. Something sears the back of my mind, burning from the cut on my shoulder. I didn't scream before, didn't make so much as a sound. But I'm screaming now. The pain and anger are just too much.

Rationality clamors somewhere, caged like a weak and pitiful beast deep inside me. _This isn't right. This isn't real. I'm being affected somehow. Something's wrong with me. _But I can't quite hear it over the screaming and the rage. Rage that I'd thought was long dead, but was truly just dulled and sleeping.

I'm only vaguely aware of the fact that I've been moved. I must have passed out when they injured the operator. And now they have guards holding me down while…

The pain spikes again. My back arches of its own volition, my entire body spasms uncontrollably as another scream tears through my already raw throat. And then the only concrete thought I've been capable of up to this point circles once more through my brain. _This is all __**his**__ fault!_

It doesn't matter that he's not real. It doesn't matter that he can't remember. It doesn't even matter that he wasn't there to begin with. My rage needs a focal point, and that focal point is Luke fon Fabre.

Red hair. Green eyes. That crooked grin. His face dances before my eyes, taunting me. From somewhere outside my consciousness, I can hear the sound of gentle, melodic chanting. It's muffled, blurred, like I'm hearing it from below the surface of a lake. But the effect it has on the howling rage in my mind is very tangible. Another jolt of fiery pain shoots down my spine, and the image of my hatred is laughing in my face.

"_I'll kill you!"_

The voice that rips from my throat is barely recognizable as my own, so harsh and feral it sounds. I wrestle my body into a sitting position, despite the strength of the guards holding me down, and belt out the words again. Red-hot hatred tears at my chest as I clamor for my release. I have to find him. I have to end him. Wipe that stupid, mocking grin from my mind forever.

"Guy…"

The soft, muffled voice hardly reaches my ears. The pity that drips from it only serves to fuel my anger further, fanning the flames into a roaring, all-consuming blaze. My breath comes quick and ragged, but the rage surpasses my exhaustion, bearing me far beyond the limits of my body. I can feel another scream building deep within me.

My head snaps back down to land unceremoniously on the bed as the guards intensify their strength against me. The chanting starts up again, and this time I can feel it. Those words, muffled and garbled as they sound in my ringing ears, are pulling my rage away from me. I cling to it desperately, not even sure why. Something about it feels comforting somehow. I find myself suddenly and ravenously starved for more of the flaming hostility that is being drawn out of my body by the infuriating chanting. My breathing becomes increasingly labored as the frustration continues to build, roiling up from somewhere deep in my core and exploding from my expended throat in a rasping, bone-rattling, gut-wrenching roar of desperation and defeat. The sound of it echoing around the small room sickens me.

…And now my head feels like it's swimming in a nauseating spiral of confusion. My limbs feel like dead weights, so exhausted are they from the seemingly tireless struggle they kept up. A thick sheen of sweat covers my body, and my chest is heaving with the effort of recovery from the scuffle. My raw throat burns like hot coals. But above all, I feel the clarity in my mind for the first time in what feels like an eternity. I close my eyes as a cool wave of relief washes over me, watching as the image of his face flickers momentarily through my head. The dulled, sleeping pain flares up briefly, but that's all it is. The rage has dissipated.

I turn to glance in the direction of the voice from before, my body slowly becoming relaxed as the guards release their death grips. If I could trust my faltering voice, I would thank him. The Fon Master just gives me a relieved smile and a small nod. Words are not necessary just yet. They will be, later. Explanations will have to be given. Especially to Luke. I can only imagine how he must be feeling right now.

But that will come in its own time. Right now, I can feel the sweet blackness of sleep overtaking my weary body. And I welcome it with a deep sigh of liberation.


End file.
